“Dig into her, Jack boy,” Bob shouted.
But even as he spoke they all heard a loud snap above the rush of the water. Bob turned his head, his heart in his throat. Jack’s face was as white as chalk, as he held up the end of the broken paddle.
“God help us!” Bob groaned.
The canoe was nearly in the middle of the stream, which at this point is about sixty feet wide, and now was rushing with the speed of a race horse toward the falls, not more than a hundred rods away.
“Shall we try to swim it?” Rex shouted in a voice which was strangely calm.
“No can do,” Kernertok shouted back.
The boys realized the truth of the statement, as they glanced down at the swirling water.
“I wonder if this is the end,” Bob thought, as he gripped the sides of the canoe.
“Do we have a chance, Kernertok?” Jack shouted.
“God know,” the old Indian answered, so low that only Bob caught the words.